Judging by the contents of any women’s magazine anywhere, we’re still OK to talk about New Year/January -related issues. I just posted about what I want to do/have more and less this year. There’s another thing I will continue rehearsing: not saving nice things just for special occasions.
You know what I mean? Saving the special set of china (yes, middle age) for Christmas and birthdays. Considering certain jewellery to be worn only at weddings and funerals. Drinking wine from any old goblets because they’ll do just fine (although in defence of dreary goblets it must be said that hand-washing delicate, stemmed wine glasses is a pain in the ass). Preserving the special perfume/bottle of champagne/dress/underwear/pair of shoes for an event so special it never comes.
I don’t mean starting to live my best life, as Instagram repeatedly reminded me in 2018. I basically just want to rid myself of the weird, guilt-ridden habit of thinking that I need permission or a specific reason for the most banal of things. I once thought about what an ideal weekday morning would be like. Turns out, I managed to totally elevate my morning situations by putting on jazz, burning a nice candle (this does come with the caveat of
occasionally regularly having an anxiety attack in a metro for not being sure whether I extinguished the candle as I left home) and having my nicest tea from the nicest cup I own.
As I was once contemplating buying a very spendy shower cream, a friend said “that’s literally going to end up down the drain anyway, why spend all that money on such a thing?“. I took her advice then, but thought to myself that strictly speaking we are all going to end up down the drain eventually anyway, so it’s not really a valid excuse not to get the shower cream I want.
I received a Frédéric Malle Portrait of a Lady -shower cream for Christmas and my first thought was to preserve this nectar for, I don’t know, when I turn 50 and can justify an exquisite shower cream to the well-wishers at my birthday reception. Turns out, it is precisely on a pitch-dark, foggy Brussels morning like today, when the world is doing me wrong (ie. I have to drag my bones to the office) that such a product truly justifies its existence.
A friend started eating only from plates some time ago (I realise this makes my friends seem like barbarians who cannot operate forks and knives. It is not so.). The intention behind was possibly to stop idle snacking at home, which also did stop as a consequence, but she told me this small change of habit made a huge difference to her daily life. Another friend only ever uses proper linen napkins whenever she sits down to eat at home. I decided to adopt all the above behaviour, pronto, as well (including buying food).
I’m listing small things because I do not want to imply that allowing yourself the best means that everything needs to be expensive. Most of the time it does not require buying anything new, just starting to use the posh Italian anchovies that have inhabited the fridge for goodness knows how long, waiting for some spectacular event, requiring fancy anchovies, to present itself. I’m not making this up. I have regular Italian anchovies and posh Italian anchovies in my fridge at all times, and it escapes me why I still keep making myself buy and eat the shit anchovies, when obviously I only ever crave the posh variety.
Another first world problem -related remark: naming new cosmetics brands. I understand we cannot all be called Coco Chanel, Kjaer Weis or Estée Lauder. Sometimes one needs to forgo the idea of an eponymous makeup line and come up with something like… Kosås. The luxury, natural cosmetics line has jumped on the Scandi-letter bandwagon like so many others, and why not. Gives a nice, Nordic touch I suppose. Kosås is an actual word as well, so it’s not just a randomly placed Umlaut that is becoming almost as maddeningly ubiquitous as products packed in millennial pink.
Kosås means cow sauce. Douze points for pairing that with tinted moisturiser.
Also there’s a new brand that sells cannabis lip balm, among other things, now available at Sephora, called KUSH. KUSH? The name looks, and sounds, like something you would put in a cartoon speech bubble to illustrate the passing of gas. Maybe KUSH is the result of there being too many cosmetics brands in the world already, because we have actually run out of complete words to call them. Maybe Goop was a warning sign of some sort.
I have not tried any products by either Kosås or KUSH, I must add. They might be brilliant and I might give them a try.
The macarons in the picture are from Ladurée, the best macaron-maker.